Morning Brood

I love our mornings,
Children’s silly, babbling laughter
Like bubbles colliding
Filling the rafters

With offerings of peace

Joy beyond our wildest hopes
As the leaven in our bread
Or cream in our coffee,
No one concerned with getting ahead

Or falling behind,
Because we’re right where we should be.


The Nick of Time

Nine and thirty years
Stirring the primordial matter
Of being, function, and identity
Shielded from the shatter
By the fluidity of expression

Constrained by determination
Kissed by destiny,
Dizzied by the collisions
Within artificial boundaries
Of usurped hierarchies

Safe again within the tower
Of tender strength
Laboring for the least,
Toiling at length
To maintain the integrity

Of the led and the leader together:

The value of every sheep
Is the mark of the shepherd.


Shifting Winds

Blow you wild winds
Against the foundations
Unmoor the pride, the eyes, the sins
Of ancestral resignations
And the hubris of myopic
Overcompensations.

Tear down with all passion
The scaffolding of human reason
The artificial edifice fashioned
Of our goals, our desires, our treasons
Blow, rage, strip away
Obedience as contorted feasance

So the fundamental stones
Through time eternal may stand
Men of thought, men of action shown
Side by side and hand in hand
Skill is only knowledge applied
But even knowledge alone can
Spare the stranded, huddled inside
From the wrath of forming ignorance

After all, it is knowledge that cultivates obedience.


Always

Five years
I gnashed my teeth,
Anger’s fist in my stomach,
The world, the future, my history
All rewritten in blood

Five years
I berated myself to obey.
Self-flagellations, recriminations,
Hard within a hard day,
Seeping the infection.

Five years
And I got sick
Death-rot in my gut
Burning sulfurous double-wicks
Trying to chastise myself to release.

One afternoon,
Memories sweet like sun tea
Cool on porch swings
Memories of your fidelity
When the worst is done

And You remain.

One afternoon,
Chubby baby legs in the sink
Repentance, dissolution
Washing her clean
Alongside my own soul

Tears flooding my rotted gut
Where reprimands could not reach,
The tender tide of love impossible
To dissuade or to impeach

Releases forgiveness, the caged dove, and
Restores the softness inside me.


Fiat

You spoke
And matter collided into being
In perfect order
Animals stretching forth to sing
Praises in a new tongue
To the Creator King

And I will be whatever You say I will be.

I sin
Striving hard between
My broken flesh,
Emotional deformities,
And spiritual stubbornness
But I have seen

The glimpse of Your beauty beyond comprehension.

You redeem
From the darkest sins
I stand only on Your work
And when I stumble again
I fall into You
Spare me from the recoil of men

And allow me to sing,
Whether in exuberance or agony,
To You, my eternal Savior King.


Pondering on Wandering

I never belonged to the barking hawkers.
They heralded my path to perdition.
Sufficient without their momentum-
Forgive me for seeking their permission

Even their affection.

What may be their mission,
Is an expression of my conformity
Overturning my design for
An infirmity of form

A painting over a painting.

I am not incorporated.
A single person from humble beginnings
Flailing in the freedom
Of expression, and service, trimming
The wicks of history

I am painted in
The broadest expression
Of human experience
And it is a transgression
To seek heightened, narrow pursuits

A tower, a city, a mantra.

I have walked the earth
In the barest of feet,
And in my poverty
I have dined with kings.

This is who I am
And it is dishonesty
To amble with troupes
When I am made to be me-

Small,
but distinct from the sea.


Dearest Tenderness,

Rain pelting my swollen face, but
I wandered barefoot into the storm
In searching rays the unbroken sun rises:
Your face shines; by grace I’m warmed
And the laments, the wails,
The twirling vapors of fate
A million broken stories
Step back in shadow to wait
The bridegroom draws close,
His musical entourage swells
My knees find the dirt
The black dog felled
Footsteps, and a harsh word
Would shatter what remains
These few, fragile shards
Wearing my name.

No voice has earned the right
Like Yours
Yet You share Your worth;
Your worth is sure.
And of all the swirling majesty
Calling electric praise
From grounded souls,
Endless shouts to the Ancient of Days
From finite vox
The clean from the unclean,
It is Your infinite tenderness
That reigns supreme

In the frangible, sensate-awareness
Of my mortal and immortal being.